


A Very Death Eater Christmas

by recuperare



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Comedy, Death Eaters, Gen, Secret Santa, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:18:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recuperare/pseuds/recuperare
Summary: What happens when the Dark Lord can take no more of his followers trying to bestow him gifts? Will Secret Santa give him a reprieve from the constant competition?





	

He rubbed his thin, white fingers across the cold clammy skin of his quickly wrinkling forehead. Being a disembodied spirit hovering through the woods of Albania had it's drawbacks, but one of the biggest benefits was not having any idea if Christmas was coming.

Maybe they had just been excited, he had told himself when the holiday season reared it's ugly face his first time around after being resurrected by Wormtail. Everyone just wanted to apologise for all of the transgressions they had made in the years he had wondered alone. But their 'apologies' in the form of lavish and expensive gifts had nearly cost him the secrecy he'd depended upon.

Lucius had spared no expense and bought him an incredibly rare dark trinket from a wizened old muggle collector in Bavaria. The mudblood had gone mysteriously missing since their encounter. The resulting investigation from the German muggle police led to an international incident as well as the involvement of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, nearly blowing everyone's cover. As if Lucius couldn't sink any lower.

Bella and Rodolphus sweetly gifted a mudblood tied up with a series of glittering ropes and sparks resembling a decorated Christmas tree. Unfortunately, this particular mudblood happened to be part of some group that were experts in the muggle 'computers' and many of them had tracked the repulsive thing into the woods where she'd left him. A few obliviating charms kept the Ministry's involvement at bay, but only just. The resulting headache from both the cover-up and listening to Bella's insistence that they could just kill any mudblood who came looking for him was immense.

Yaxley and the Carrow siblings had gotten into a competition over who could kill the most mudbloods in his name, ending in a drunken pub brawl in the Hog's Head that earned them a short stint back in Azkaban - a lucky break given they all had thrown Cruciatus curses at each other in broad daylight. Yaxley was luckily able to convince the Aurors involved that they had been saying "Incendio" instead. Given the level of alcohol all parties had ingested, the excuse was passable.

Greyback had brought him a thick, bloody side of what looked like a cow which had started to turn green on one end. When he'd rumpled up his nose at the smell, Greyback graciously offered to dispose of it as an additional present to which Voldemort sneered. Greyback then developed a mysterious illness that only affected werewolves that kept him away for several days while tensions cooled.

Dolohov and Rookwood merely attempted to bribe him offering to buy Voldemort whatever he’d liked, each placing in a larger bid and promising to rush off to Gringotts as soon as it re-opened after the holidays. When he merely wished for their eternal silence, the pair went red-faced and looked ready to throw back words before cowering back into the shadows.

Avery and Gibbon had their own competition, with a bit more finesse. Each chose to cast the Imperius curse on a different journalist for the Daily Prophet, writing anti-Muggle news stories that caught the attention not only of the wider Wizarding world, but also the Ministry, evoking an extensive investigation that left them both in hiding for weeks.

Goyle and Crabbe simply provided a tin of Celebrations chocolates that turned out to be 80% empty wrappers when Voldemort ruffled through them. He launched the tin at both of their heads upon inspection giving Goyle a concussion and Crabbe a large bruise.

Jugson and Mulciber produced semi-thoughtful gifts in the way of rats for Nagini, both underestimating the size of her belly. Voldemort shot an eye at them after Nagini ate both small tiny rats in one gulp and twisted their fingers anxiously in their robes as he threatened to allow Nagini to eat one of them for pudding.

Selwyn proved useful, but not in the best way. Securing a portkey near to Potter’s residence sounded perfect when Voldemort had regained his strength. But, not being aware of the charm protecting the Privet Drive home, he had been launched from a spherical barrier around the sleeping home, ending face down in a rose bush. He had merely seconds to apparate as the lights snapped on and a loud dog bounded down the steps.

Nott claimed to have assumed he never would have wanted a gift. And while normally this would have caused Voldemort some ire, given the troubles caused by the rest of the gifts, he breathed a sigh of relief as his face flushed at his empty hands.

Rowle, Travers, and Macnair all made grand gestures of swearing allegiance and promising to murder all of Harry Potters’ friends and family, and the ridiculousness of it all nearly caused Voldemort to request they fight to the death to be his personal assistant before he thought the better of the idea. He simply told them that the owed him one gigantic favour and enjoyed the nervous way they nodded in their efforts to swear they would do anything asked of them.

He expected an irritating present from the mewling Pettigrew, but his audacity this time had outranked his need for petulant approval. Luckily the reflexes in Voldemort’s new body had not degraded and he had time to stop the simpering worm before he offered to cut his other hand off as a symbol of devotion, obviously in exchange for another, stronger arm. And the rat thought he wouldn't be able to see right through his 'gift'. Pettigrew spent the holiday trapped in a tiny glass ball as the rat he was, thrown across rooms from Death Eater to Death Eater.

The only remotely decent gift had been Severus, who had provided a small vial of Felix Felicis for his next encounter with Potter or any other venture he would attempt.

As the next holiday season drew closer, sitting in front of another meeting of Death Eaters, Voldemort pondered over how best to solve the impending crisis of competition between the Death Eaters, many hoping to outdo the last one in the thoughtfulness and value of their gifts, some afraid to forget their gift this season.

‘It has come to my attention,’ he began, all murmuring ceasing immediately, ‘that we are approaching the holidays at the end of the year.’

‘Are we to interrupt Potter on his journey home, master?’ frothed Bella.

‘No, no,’ Voldemort said, shaking his head and rubbing his temples, remembering the rose bush, ‘I mean to address the holiday and the disastrous affects of it last year.’

Most of the Death Eaters around the table understood and immediately sunk their heads.

‘For this year, I will have to implement a policy in order to prevent something like this from happening again.’

He paused.

‘We will be attempting a…. Secret Santa arrangement.’ It was painful to strangle out of his mouth.

The Death Eaters gaped up from the table, eyes widened and staring at Voldemort as if he had just announced that their characteristic black hoods would now be pink.

‘Well?’ he snapped, ‘Is someone going to collect the names?’ 

Pettigrew stumbled to his feet, somehow still tripping sitting down, gathered a roll of parchment, went past each Death Eater sitting around the table and collecting their written names in a rumpled hat he had found somewhere. He cowered over to Voldemort, bringing the parchment along with him and eyeing him expectantly. Any blithering fool could see Pettigrew was waiting for him to write ‘Voldemort’ across the parchment and drop it into what would likely be Pettigrew’s waiting hand.

‘Give me the hat, Wormtail,’ Voldemort said, snatching it from his grip when he took a breath in to protest. 

He crumpled the sheet with his name on it, extending it to Malfoy on his right hand side. Malfoy accepted the hat, looking confused.

‘Does… the Dark Lord not wish to—‘

‘The Dark Lord does not give gifts, Malfoy. He receives them.’

Malfoy nodded quickly, withdrawing the hat and choosing the name. 

It didn’t take a clever mind to figure out that those Death Eaters such as Bellatrix and Wormtail who wished to get Voldemort’s name for the sake of proving their worth were instantly let down. While some Death Eaters breathed an easy sigh of relief or even scoffed, Wormtail looked as though he might burst into a fit of crying rage and Bellatrix looked as if someone had run over a family pet and she discovered it’s pancaked, gory body lied prostrate on the ground.

Others such as Greyback, Snape and Mucliber remained expressionless. 

‘Master,’ snotted Wormtail, ‘ I seem to have two na—‘

‘Deal with it Wormtail!’ Voldemort snapped, standing up quickly and moving away from the table. 

‘Yes sir,’ Pettigrew murmured.

He awoke on December 25th with an already pounding migraine. The light bouncing off of the snow covered ground through the windows seared his eyes. He nearly ripped the curtains off of their railings as he shut them. Outside of the room, he could hear a flurry of activity all of which he knew would pound and clang in his head like a toddler set loose on a stack of pans with a metal spatula.

Eventually as the evening waned on, he not only grew intensely hungry, but he knew he ought to leave the sanctuary of his room and get the gift exchange over with. Only one present, he remembered, so it shouldn’t be too painful.

The Death Eaters froze when Voldemort emerged from his room. The scattered wrapping paper on the floor and some of the grins on a few faces, before he stepped in, demonstrated that the gift exchange had already begun.

‘Apologies, my Lord,’ Bellatrix stood dropping a flame emitting device from her hand, ‘we were not sure if you would want to join us.’ She bowed her heard.

‘There is always the simple matter of knocking on my door to ask,’ Voldemort said and Bellatrix looked flat on the floor.

‘Yes of course, my Lord,’ Bellatrix squeaked.

But Voldemort walked toward the long table in the centre of the room, spotting a single black box with a black ribbon, untouched among the chaos. He extended his spider-like clammy fingers to the black square card affixed just below the voluminous black bow.

‘To the Dark Lord,’ the card said in white, elaborate script.

As Voldemort pulled one bit of the black bow, the Death Eaters froze in their spot, all eyes watching and waiting, as if Voldemort were snipping the red wire of an enormous bomb.

The black ribbon fell of the sides of the box and Voldemort gingerly placed his fingers on the sides of the lids, pausing for a moment before lifting it. A few Death Eaters looked away, squinting and holding their breath.

Black tissue paper popped out of the box, a few sheets falling to the floor and Voldemort placed the lid to the right side of the box, peeling past the light, airy black paper, ripping some in the process. And at the bottom of the black box sat what looked like a round piece of parchment coloured fabric, contained within a wooden circle.

Voldemort picked up the wooden circle, turning the flat side of it towards him. it looked almost like the top of a drum, the checkered parchment coloured fabric stretched within the bounds of the wooden circle and secured with what looked like a steel lock in the corner.

Words were etched into holes of the parchment fabric in black thread. They read:

‘If Voldy Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy.’

He turned toward the crowd of frozen and anticipating Death Eaters, holding the circle outstretched to face them. Several Death Eaters gasped audibly and at least one passed out while others chewed their knuckles. They looked back up at Voldemort’s face, awaiting the oncoming storm of fury, but his face looked quite blank.

‘I don’t know who gave me this gift…’ he said quietly, then pausing.

They still ceased to breathe, hands frozen in the same place like a comical ventriloquist scene, stuck in a single moment in time and space.

‘BUT I LOVE IT!’ he shouted so loud it echoed through the empty mansion hall.

Malfoy collapsed to the floor.


End file.
